


Living Under Your Pink Clouds

by peachclub



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, PWP, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachclub/pseuds/peachclub
Summary: Sylvain wishes he could see the rest of the world the way he sees Claude, but he doesn’t think anything will ever compare.





	Living Under Your Pink Clouds

The afternoon sun turns their studio apartment into a furnace. The air conditioning in the building isn’t the best—it’ll never get cold enough to rival the heat. The most they can do is take layers of clothes off, or take cold showers. 

Droplets of sweat drip down Sylvain’s temple, his hands grabbing tightly onto the tarp beneath him, his back slicking it with more sweat. “You know, I didn’t think this is what you had in mind when you said you wanted to paint me.” 

“Shush,” Claude says, smearing red paint onto his hips, using his palms to spread it upward. Sylvain arches into his touch, sensitive, throwing an arm over his face. He already has paint all over his briefs, a little more won’t hurt. “You look incredible, if I do say so myself.” Claude wipes his hands, dipping his fingers into the white, running it over his collarbones. 

Sylvain stares up at him, streaks of blue, red, purple, scattered over his cheeks and stuck in his hair. He can see sweat dripping down the length of his neck, follows it down his chest, wants to reach out and wipe it away. He shifts, feeling Claude slip a bit on his lap. He’s been half-hard for over an hour and having Claude sliding on his dick doesn’t help. 

“Claude,” he whines, despite it all. 

“Quit squirming,” Claude demands. 

“It’s _hot_, Claude. My back is covered in sweat.” 

Claude drags a fingernail over his nipple, slow and deliberate. “Let me finish. I’m almost done. You look amazing.” 

Sylvain drops his head back to the ground, stretching his neck. He remains quiet, feeling Claude’s fingernails occasionally scraping his skin. He tries to focus on anything other than how hot his body feels. He hopes he doesn’t ruin Claude’s art with his sweat. 

Despite Claude saying he was almost done, Sylvain notices the familiar way the light filters in through the windows. The sun is setting. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in the same position. He shuts his eyes, desperate to let him finish. 

For a moment, Claude remains still. It’s not until Sylvain hears the click of a shutter that his eyes fly open. Just as he suspected, Claude’s above him with a camera. He says his name once more, hesitantly. 

“It’s for my eyes only.” After a beat, he corrects himself, “_You’re_ for my eyes only. Come on.” 

He assists him in getting up, both of their hands slippery and covered in paint. Sylvain’s back has to unstick itself from the tarp. Claude instructs him to wait, and goes to the side of the bed to grab the full-length mirror, dragging it over and setting it in front of him. 

Sylvain gets a good look at himself. “A forest?” He asks, tilting his head. Claude nods. Branches spill from his neck, a sunset on his hips. The fact he managed to do it all upside down impresses Sylvain beyond words. He lightly touches his chest, a small deer among the trees, a bird in the sky. It’s beautiful, all of it. 

Sylvain turns to him, sees the tears in his eyes, and rushes forward. He kisses him deeply, taking his face into his hands. Claude brings him close, sliding his hands up his back, slick with sweat. “I fucking love you,” Sylvain says between kisses, fingers playing with his hair. 

Claude pulls away, smiling softly at him, and breathes, “Get on your back.” 

The tarp isn’t any better than it was a few minutes ago. At least Sylvain’s back managed to dry a bit. Claude sits between his spread legs, palming him through his paint-stained briefs. “God. I kept feeling your damn dick against my ass.” 

“Yeah, well—” 

“It drove me fucking crazy,” Claude finishes, hooking his fingers under Sylvain’s waistband and dragging them down. Claude runs his hand over Sylvain’s hip, smearing a gradient of red and purple, leaning in and taking him into his mouth. Sylvain groans, arousal spiking in his gut once more. 

Claude is picturesque. Sylvain pushes his hair out of his face, wrapping his fingers in brown strands. There’s nothing Claude does that doesn’t impress him, that doesn’t make his heart pound, that doesn’t make him want to spend the rest of his life with him. 

Claude’s hand curls around the base, already spit slick. He pulls off, tongue trailing over the length, dipping into the slit, leaking. Sylvain can’t help but get riled up, getting to watch Claude work his mouth on his dick will never grow old. The way Claude’s eyelashes flutter, the way he whines softly in the back of his throat when Sylvain pulls his hair, absolutely focused on the task at hand. 

He throws his head back when Claude takes him down all the way, nose buried in red curls. Sylvain is certain he smells like sweat, but he knows Claude has never cared. 

Claude digs his nails into his hips, distracting him from his thoughts, sliding his hands down to grip his thighs and squeeze. Sylvain grabs onto the tarp once more, trying not to thrust his hips into his mouth. He wants to fuck him so badly, wants to cover Claude’s body with his own and slam into him, wants to bury his face in Claude’s chest hair— 

“You’re insatiable,” Claude interrupts, green eyes practically piercing Sylvain’s _soul_, “we fucked before I started painting.” 

“How can I not want to fuck you when you’re slobbering all over my dick?” 

Claude hums, “Always such a romantic.” He sits up, shrugging, “Well. Ask and you shall receive. Hold on.” He makes haste, rushing to the couch to grab the bottle they left there earlier. Before Sylvain knows it, he’s back in his lap. 

Claude tugs on the drawstring of his sweatpants, slipping out of them, stained with colors that never come out. He forewent the underwear earlier, knowing he was just going to shower later anyway. He rests himself back on his knees, pouring lube over Sylvain’s dick, fist wrapped tightly around him. 

“You are driving me insane,” Sylvain complains, huffing and pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes, overgrown. Claude rolls his eyes, but Sylvain forces himself up, maneuvering them so Claude’s back hits the tarp. 

Claude stares up at him, a bit short of breath, a smirk on his face. Sylvain wastes no more time, slipping into him easily, smoothly, watching Claude’s head tilt back. He leans forward, nipping at Claude’s jaw, his stubble scratching his cheek. He kisses him, swallowing the moan Claude releases when he shoves in all the way. 

Running his hands over Sylvain’s chest, Claude smears paint, gathering it in his palms, grabbing Sylvain’s face and keeping him close. Sylvain bites hard at his neck, leaving imprints in the shapes of his teeth. Claude twists his hands in Sylvain’s hair, pulling roughly, red strands between his fingers. 

Colors slide onto Claude’s body when they touch, making a greater mess of both of them. Sylvain’s hips snap into him, arms caging him in. Claude turns his head, eyes squeezed shut, lower lip pulled between his teeth. 

Sylvain gets a good look at him, at the peach glow spread over his body, absolutely exquisite. Warm, illuminated, his skin shines. The gold earrings that trail up his ear reflect light, blindingly beautiful. Sylvain wishes he could see the rest of the world the way he sees Claude, but he doesn’t think anything will ever compare. 

He wants to be covered in him, never wants Claude to stop throwing colors his way. The world got a little more vibrant when he met him. 

Claude grabs Sylvain’s arm, dragging his hand down to his dick, mumbling something about making himself useful. Sylvain retorts, “I’m plenty useful.” 

“You certainly are,” Claude cackles, tightening his legs around Sylvain’s waist, bringing him closer. Sylvain laughs into his mouth, twisting his wrist when he pushes in. Claude gasps, whining softly. 

“You’re all talk,” Sylvain breathes. 

“I sure am,” Claude replies, wiping more paint on his cheeks, smiling up at him. 

Sylvain bites a line from his shoulder to his neck, adding onto what’s already there. He wants to cover Claude in his own colors, dark purples and reds. “I love you so damn much,” Sylvain says, muffled by Claude’s skin. 

“I love you, Sylvain.” 

He kisses the corner of Claude’s mouth, rolling his hips. Claude shudders, eyes fluttering shut, a blush sitting high on his cheeks. He arches up, moaning loudly, thighs trembling. 

Sylvain knows him well enough. With his fist around Claude’s dick, he presses his fingers into the sensitive spot that has him whimpering and spilling all over himself. Claude pants, fingers scrambling for purchase against the tarp. 

It pushes Sylvain closer to the edge. He shoves his hands on either side of Claude’s head, slamming into him, pace erratic. He rushes to pull out, but Claude’s legs around his hips keep him inside. “Claude, I’m—” 

“I don’t care,” Claude pants, chest heaving. 

Sylvain comes, shoving in deep, cursing under his breath. After a moment, he pulls away, falling onto the tarp beside Claude. They’re both messy, paint and sweat melting their bodies. Claude turns to him, grabbing him by the back of the neck to bring him in for a kiss. 

“Thanks for letting me paint on you.” 

“Anytime you want to put your hands on me, I’m down.” 

Claude laughs. Sylvain presses their bodies flush against each other, squeezing Claude’s ass, feeling his come sticky on his skin. Claude runs his hands through all of the messy paint on Sylvain’s chest, mumbling, “I’m _so _glad I took pictures.” 

Sylvain looks down at himself, seeing the way they’re both covered in Claude’s painting. It doesn’t look anything like it did before, but it’s still amazing, and the colors haven’t muddied. 

He reaches up to wipe at a streak of white on Claude’s cheek, bringing their lips together once more. He’ll never tire of him, of the feeling of his body, of all of the ways Claude shows him that he loves him. 

Sylvain tells him how much he loves him, over and over, into his mouth, into his neck, lips moving languidly over his skin. Claude tilts his head back, grabbing onto Sylvain’s bicep. 

“Keep going for my neck and I’ll be rearing up for a round three,” Claude says, voice a little weak. 

“Maybe I want to,” Sylvain breathes, fingers rubbing circles into his lower back. Claude snorts, smudging paint over his nipple, fingertips ghosting over his ribs. 

“How about we hop in the shower, smart ass?” 

Sylvain pretends to actually contemplate it. Claude smacks his shoulder, rolling away from him and standing up. “I’ll meet you there.” 

When he’s gone into the bathroom, Sylvain calls out, “I just wanted to watch you walk away and I wasn’t disappointed.” 

He can hear Claude laugh over the sound of running water. The sound is music to his ears. He stands up, staring into the full length mirror that’s still beside him. It’s still art, just a different kind. 

“Hurry up, Sylvain! I’ll finish without you.” 

“I’m coming!” 

As long as Claude will have him, he will remain ready to offer his whole heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> another one,,,,, i can't stop,,,,,,,,,


End file.
